Faendal - A Follower's Fury
by hailgaudium
Summary: In a land of simple barbarians, how far will Farengar fare before someone cuts him down because of his sarcasm? Especially when he attacks both friend and foe with it. Will even Alduin be spared of his bitter wit? And what about our bosmer, Faendal? Will he win the heart of his love? Or will he forever be alone?
1. Chapter 1

"Did I just see you talking to Sven?"

Those were the first words which Faendal spoke to him. The mage was plucking at a thistle bush and did not reply. The wood-elf was going to ask again when he got his answer.

"If your idea of _talking_ is a one-sided, witless, obnoxious waste of breath then yes, you did hear me talking to Sven. What of it?"

Faendal looked around to see if the reply had come from elsewhere. Sighting no one around, he told himself that it must be the mage who had spoken. The voice was not low, no. It was very clear. But dry, and so so tired. Also it was strange how the voice of the wizard hung in the air. Suspended. From nowhere to nowhere.

Lost in thought as he was, he completely forgot to speak the demeaning lines about Sven which he recited to absolutely everyone. He watched as the mage stuffed the herbs into the satchel at his side.

"Anyways. It was nice _talking_ to you.", he said, before sweeping away to the smithy. The bosmer could do nothing but look on. The mage hood concealed the man's face, and he was glad.

Alvor paused in his hammering to stare at the mage. He wanted to sell him robes. Mage robes.

"What in Oblivion am I going to do with these?", he thundered. "I'm a blacksmith! I can forge you a hammer that would crush a Giant's skull like a walnut. But I don't trade in pretty clothes and trinklets."

The mage folded the robes and put them back in his pack.

"I know. There is no need be so loud, your work is noisy enough. I was just hoping to take advantage of your feeble wits and sell these to you at a price which far outstrips it's market value. But I see that today I'm to be disappointed. Oh well." Alvor snatched his iron warhammer from where he had stowed it last and prepared to swing... but the mage was gone.

Faendal thought he had lost the mage when he saw him again whilst he was crossing the river. "Where are you going?", he asked. The mage stopped, but did not turn. By now, Faendal didn't expect him too.

"Bleak Falls Barrow. Why, do you intend to follow me there?"

The wood elf's brain whirled...

Bleak Falls Barrow. Bandits. Golden Claw. Camilla. Camilla. Camilla.

He didn't know if the mage could read his mind, or whether he just took his silence as an affirmative. "If you do intend to follow me, I'd advise you to stock up on potions and other such things."

"Will you wait?", he asked. It was a stupid question. He was running before he heard him answer.

"Unlikely."

Faendal, now armed with his best hunting bow, saw the mage just as he entered the Barrow. He walked past the steaming corpses of 2 bandits to where the wizard was standing, peeking inside a wooden chest. "Help yourself with arms and armour, low-quality as they are.", he said.

"Why? Have you come to care for me?", said Faendal. It was time the wizard had his own taste of harsh tongue.

"Care? For someone other than myself? You make me laugh.", he said, with no hint of mirth whatsoever, "You'd make a good jester, you know? A jester in farmer's attire, in a place where even a skeever could bite you in half."

As Faendal strapped on fur armour, he wondered why the voice was coming from further and further away.

He looked up and around an empty chamber, the gates slightly ajar.

"Damn wizards.", he cursed before hurrying behind him.

Before he knew it, there was a bloody huge spider hanging over his head. When he saw that there was no sign of the wizard, he released arrow after arrow at the beast, determined to kill it before it could lay a single hairy foot on the ground.

He failed.

Moving back quickly, he drew the iron axe and shield that he had scavenged from the bandits. The giant Frostbite spider spat venom at him, which he avoided deftly. Leaping over another poisonous spray, he readied his arm for one devastating swing.

There was no need to.

Faendal spied on something glittering underneath the spider's hideous bottom. Just before it exploded. He ducked behind his shield as a whole tangle of burning limbs and bloody eyes went flying everywhere.

 _Was that a rune_ , he asked himself. He had only heard about them, never witnessed one.

"They don't call me Farengar Secret-Fire for nothing, you know?"

Faendal pointed his axe at the wizard, whose calmness simply fed fire to his own fury.

"Where did you go off to?", he said. His voice dangerously low. It was all he could do to keep his axe from cutting into the mage.

"I muffled.", Farengar replied. "Look closely. Too many eyes. Much too many. As scary as it looks, it gives away one crucial fact - it relies on its vision far more than hearing or smell. All I had do was..."

"Set me up as a distraction?", he growled.

"I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, but in essence, yes. Your actions, foolish as they were, allowed me to test my theory and put a rune under it's posterior."

"Theory? What do you mean theory?!", he gasped.

"What's wrong? This was my first encounter with a Frostbite spider. I'd say that I did pretty well.", he said, harvesting a nice batch of venom from the monster. He tossed the little phials to Faendal. They would be of better use on an arrow than in a mage's pocket. It was a surprisingly long time before the two even noticed the poor trapped dark elf.

"Cut him down, would you? That job is much more suitable for you and your axe. Or am I mistaken?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N : Thanks to all who have read my short work. A special thanks to the one whose review spurred my efforts further. Enjoy everyone...**

After an unaccountable span of dungeon crawling, the wood-elf found himself in what appeared to be the main chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow. Multitudes of draugr had fallen at their feet. Between his arrows and Farengar's runes, few undead caused them trouble. The hardiest ones had merely forced the use of axe and firebolts. The mage was right when he said that the Golden Claw was actually a key. Faendal had thought that Farengar was just playing around with him.

At the very end of the chamber was an engraved wall, and in front of it... a very large coffin. The Wall, fascinating as it was, no longer concerned him as much as it did a moment ago.

Unlike the wizard, who raced at it like Embry did towards a free mug of ale.

"STOP, YOU FOOL!", Faendal shouted as the lid burst open.

The time it took for him to nock an arrow and draw back his arm - little though it was - was the time it took for the Draugr lord to lash out at Farengar. The mage crumpled against his beloved wall.

Before the monster could take another step, 3 feet of steel-tipped hardened wood impaled him in the ribs. So forceful was it's flight that he staggered to one knee in his effort to pull it out.

Then another struck.

And another.

Faendal had feathered this undead into a mad rage. He hoped he could survive it.

Dancing back and forth, the bosmer did all he could to keep the frosty greatsword away from his flesh. He struck with his war-ax laced with Frostbite venom when he spotted opportunity. Otherwise he scuttled around wherever his feet found purchase. His left arm was almost numb, and his shield was mostly kindling when he shouted for Farengar.

To his surprise, and more so the Draugr's, the mage answered. Faendal had never witnessed a colder response...

He scrambled to his feet and swallowed half a dozen vials of healing potion. Between gulps he saw Farengar fire bolt after bolt of gigantic ice spikes. Both energy and some degree of respect for his companion seeped into the elf's limbs. The draugr was hardly moving now.

It was now or never.

With wiry strength harnessed from decades of archery, he hewed at the Undead's skull. He could feel the blow jarr his arm as sharpened steel chewed and ate into old iron and rotting flesh.

It was done. The draugr was dead and they were alive. With a curse, Faendal threw aside the now - ruined shield and looked up at Farengar. The mage stood facing the cursed wall, his bloody robes the only sign of past conflict.

"Are you alright?", Faendal asked. He knew the wizard wouldn't.

"HET NOK FaaL VahLOK DeiNMaaR DO DOVAahGOLZ ahRK aaN FUS DO UNSLaaD RahGOL ahRK VULOM", Farengar thundered in a voice his own and not yet so. In a language so harsh and garbled, Faendal felt it was made for tongues made of stone. He was about to turn towards the large chest when a single word burned is way into his very soul.

FUS...

"Here lies the Guardian Keeper of Dragonstone and a force of unending Rage and darkness."

"Eh..What?", the elf stuttered, still swooning.

"I just translated the writing on the wall, you dolt!", Farengar scolded. His harsh tone brought Faendal back to Nirn.

He was about to tell him off, and then curse at the mage's stupidity. But he didn't. Now that there was no threat to his life, Faendal could go over what happened during the fight.

Draugr are vulnerable to fire, a fact he was sure the mage knew. And yet he had chosen go with Ice. A bolt of fire would have been a surer kill. But it seemed a surer kill was not what he wanted. Even though they were frost resistant, the large number of ice spikes had managed to slow it considerably. Allowing Faendal to breathe and live.

Farengar would never admit that he had risked all to provide the elf a fighting chance.


End file.
